


Blood & Tea

by staringatstars



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Hanahaki Disease, M/M, POV Simon Snow, Simon Snow Is Tired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-31 21:22:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20801615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staringatstars/pseuds/staringatstars
Summary: Simon tells himself it's probably just a cold until he coughs up a rose petal, and even then he doesn't quite grasp that he's in trouble.





	Blood & Tea

It started with a sore throat.

Simon didn’t think much of it at first. Why would he? People came down with colds all the time. Or maybe it was allergies. 

Dust.

It could certainly be dust. After all, not every little thing that happened to him had a magical explanation behind it, and as much as he was loath to admit, Baz didn’t spend every second of his free time plotting. It was a hard truth to accept, but after spending years with Baz for a roommate, he was starting to come around to it. 

So he loudly cleared his throat, still drowsy with sleep and uncaring if it woke Baz up. Not that it helped. If anything, it felt as though he’d irritated something lodged behind his tonsils, shifted it ever so slightly, and now the urge to cough was maddening. He slid off the mattress, oblivious to how the motion pulled most of his sheets with him, then shambled to the bathroom, one hand ghosting over his neck. 

He thought he might have heard Baz mutter his name in annoyance, but quickly cast the idea out his head, shutting the door with a satisfying thud. In the mirror, his face stared dolefully back at him, greyer than usual and with bruise-colored bags under his eyes. Nervous about what he would find, he peered inside his mouth, looking as far back as he could. At first, he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Then he spotted the tip of something scarlet pressed against his throat. Wincing, he reached into his mouth to grab it, ignoring his gag reflex to the best of his abilities, and pulled out a blood-red flower petal.

Simon stared at the petal in disbelief. There weren’t any spells they’d learned of in class that caused the affected to start coughing up flowers. Could he have swallowed it by mistake? Had Baz put the petal in his mouth as a prank? Was the Humdrum somehow behind it? 

A curse did seem more likely than any of the alternatives Simon could think of.

Deciding to shelve the issue for the moment, he tossed the petal into the bin then set about taking a shower and getting ready for class, and even though there was no way to prove Baz was behind the flower curse, he made certain to use up all the hot water, too.

Somehow, hearing Baz sputter in outrage when it was his turn made Simon’s morning just a tad more bearable, and he walked to class with a skip in his step.

“What’s wrong, Simon? Are you feeling okay?” Simon frowned at Penny from across the table. He’d been thinking of heading to the library after lunch, maybe finding a book on plant-related curses, but it wasn’t until she said something that he realized he might have been acting a little off. His plate, for one thing, was stacked high with untouched food. Beef, potatoes, and green beans were literally his favorite, yet he couldn’t find it in him to swallow a single bite. 

Smiling wanly, he assured her, “I’m just not very hungry today, I guess. No reason to fuss.” He could feel Baz staring at him, somehow, and had to make a conscious effort not to turn around to see if he was right. The thought of him, though, agitated the constant ache in Simon’s stomach, and he clutched his sides, feeling suddenly as though he was going to be ill. “Sorry, Penny,” he muttered, jumping to his feet with a speed that made his head spin. “Have to go. See you at dinner,” and he rushed out of the dining hall, too fast for her to follow, but not too fast for a vampire. 

Once outside, Simon doubled-over, heaving. It felt like his lungs were filled with fluid, like he was drowning on dry land. It was terrifying. 

“Decide to up your daily dose of attention, Snow?” Baz sneered, starting in with the insults the instant he strode out of the dining hall, as though there weren’t spots of color in his pale cheeks, as though his long black hair wasn’t just a bit disheveled from running after him. “What’s the occasion, then? Trying to skip out on a practical magic exam?”

Still bent over at the waist, Simon glared up at him through watering eyes, struggling with every ounce of his will to collect enough air in his lungs to tell Baz to go choke on a garlic roll, and made the embarrassing mistake of opening his mouth to do exactly that. He gagged, retching, then spat out a dark red rose at Baz’s feet. They stared at the flower for a moment, Baz’s expression twitching oddly, as though it was stuck, and then Simon picked up the blasted rose and darted for the exit. 

He didn’t even know why he was running. It wasn’t like he had anything to hide.

This was probably Baz’s fault, anyway.

But he _was_ running. Running so fast and with so little air it was making him dizzy. He tore out onto the school grounds, ignoring Baz’s shouts behind him, then made for the woods. One of his hands, the hand gripped around the rose, stung, and he looked down to see a stem covered in thorns. His lungs, his throat, his stomach burned. 

The darkness cooled him, though. He found a tree to sit under and sat down on its roots, twirling the rose idly in his hands while he tried desperately to think of what to do. 

He should have told Penny what was going on, or maybe even gone to the Mage. A single petal hadn’t seemed like such a big deal, though. Just a minor curse. More of a nuisance than anything. If he was going to start coughing up thorns, though…

“You’re bleeding.”

Simon’s head shot up, the Sword of Mages automatically appearing in his hand. Baz watched him warily, approaching cautiously the way one might an injured deer, or maybe an injured lion. Simon wasn’t sure which comparison he liked better. Instead of responding immediately, he vanished the sword, slumping back against the trunk with a sigh, “Did your vampire senses tell you that?”

“No, but I know what blood looks like. Not everyone’s as dense as you, Snow.”

There he went again. Always condescending. Always ready with a snide remark or a cutting insult. Why did the Crucible bring them together if all they were ever going to do was fight?

He’s not even a villain, really. More of a jerk. A bully on a bad day.

The clouds above their heads shifted, letting a stream of moonlight shine on Baz’s head, enveloping him in rays of silver that sharpened the hollows of his cheeks, that made the edges of him glow. Agony burst in Simon’s chest. He clawed at his neck, coughing and hacking until flower petals came flooding out of him. They tasted of copper and bergamot. 

Baz was by his side before he’d realized he’d moved, patting his back, murmuring something soothing while Simon emptied out his lungs. 

Simon didn’t think Baz would do this to him. He didn’t want to believe it. 

So he pushed those thoughts away and leaned into the touch of a boy. A boy just like him. 

It wasn’t until he woke up in the infirmary three hours later that his brain thought it important to let him know that he’d fainted in Baz’s arms like a princess out of a fairytale. At that point, Simon wondered if it wouldn’t be kinder to just let the flower curse kill him.

Agatha did her best to help when she visited. True Love’s Kiss was such a commonplace curse breaker that she offered to try, except Simon knew it wouldn’t work and didn’t want to see the look of disappointment on her face when the attempt fell through. 

The nurse said there was a surgery that could remove the flowers from his body, but taking out the root would take away any feelings they fed on. He would never be able to love the same person again, so Simon refused. He refused even when the Mage insisted he agree, and was careful to avoid his food and tea, just in case the Mage got it into his head to sedate him into compliance for his own good. 

He told the Mage he’d think about, told Penny and Agatha and the nurse he’d think about it, but when Baz visited during the night, possibly assuming he’d be asleep. Simon confessed that he had absolutely no intention of going through with it.

“You’re mad,” Baz breathed, wide-eyed with terror.

Simon huffed. “It’s my decision, isn’t it?”

“What about the Humdrum?”

It was a valid question. Simon had been quite literally raised to defeat the Humdrum. 

Reinforcing his voice with a confidence he didn’t feel, Simon replied, “Someone else will defeat it. It’s hardly the end of the wizarding world if I’m not around. Plenty of people can wield a sword.” For some reason, Baz looked as though his heart was breaking.

“You were always supposed to kill me,” he said quietly. 

Simon turned on his side to face him. Then, just as quietly, “I was never going to. Known that since before the Crucible brought us together.” He coughed, tasting blood and tea on his tongue. A bowl was placed on his chest and he spat rose petals into it, then an entire rose. He choked on the stem, tears coming to his eyes as he attempted to pull it out without ripping up his throat in the process. 

“_**Clean as a whistle**_,” he heard Baz say desperately. “_**Right as rain. A spoonful of sugar. An apple a day makes-**_”

“That’s not a spell,” Simon wheezed. 

Baz ignored him. “_**As you were! Get well soon!**_” Simon struggled to keep him in focus. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his mouth pulled tight at the sides. He was like a supernova in human form, beautiful and dangerous and burning. Simon had always known he was too unpredictable, too volatile to be beautiful. No one complimented a nuclear warhead, but Basilton Pitch was a force of nature, and one day the world was going to see how amazing he was, and if Simon was alive to see it, he was going to pride himself on having been one of the first. 

His vision was blurring, his hearing was failing, and darkness encroached on his consciousness, threatening to steal it from him, yet he could still hear Baz shout, “_**Make a wish**_,” as though the spell had been born inside his bones. He wanted to tell Baz to stop, that it was okay to stop, but he was so tired, far too tired to scrape together enough air to breathe. It didn’t seem all that important, anyway. 

Then something blisteringly warm and shockingly cool pressed against his lips, emptying his lungs and brain of oxygen. It was a kiss that tasted of salt and blood and tea, and when it was done, Simon could finally breathe again. He stared up at Baz in disbelief, taking in the other boy’s stricken expression with confusion. It was as though Baz honestly expected him to start yelling or go off or something. 

Instead, Simon grinned cheekily, “How soon do you think we can do that again?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you liked it. These boys deserve all the happiness


End file.
